The War on DEI: What It Means for Disability Advocacy in the Federal Workforce

The image shows a close-up of a document titled "Termination of Employment" placed on a wooden desk. To the side, there is a partial view of a keyboard and a yellow-tinted pair of eyeglasses resting on a closed book.

The federal government is currently experiencing a period of significant change in areas such as Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion, return-to-office mandates, and executive orders that directly affect federal policies. As a long-time federal employee, I find myself closely observing these developments and working to adapt—just like many of you. This is undoubtedly a time of uncertainty for federal workers, and understandably so. Recent rollbacks in DEI programming, elimination of related roles, and the enforcement of RTO mandates are reshaping the workplace landscape at a rapid pace.

For me, these changes feel personal. As someone with a disability—navigating chronic pain, a visual impairment, and reliance on assistive technology—this shifting landscape poses significant challenges. The pace of change is unsettling, but it’s important to acknowledge that much remains unknown. While the push for these policy changes is concerning, full implementation will take time. Many of the fears we face today may not materialize immediately.

Despite the uncertainties, one thing remains clear: we all share a responsibility to uphold the humanity of our workplaces. Whether as colleagues or leaders, it’s on us to ensure that everyone—regardless of ability—can succeed in the roles they were hired to fulfill. While DEI initiatives and remote work policies are evolving, some measures remain stable for now.

The current RTO memo includes language that supports remote work as a reasonable accommodation for employees with disabilities. This provision is a step in the right direction. However, the future of Schedule A—a hiring authority designed to bring individuals with disabilities into federal service—is less certain. While Schedule A has its limitations, it has served as a vital pathway into federal employment for many. For now, it remains intact, offering a glimmer of stability amidst the changes.

As federal employees, it’s easy to feel overwhelmed by the uncertainty and rapid shifts happening around us. But it’s important to take a moment to reflect and breathe. We are still in the early days of this administration, and much of what is being proposed will require time to take shape. The federal government’s processes are famously slow-moving, and significant changes often face bureaucratic resistance and legal challenges before they can be fully implemented.

This doesn’t diminish the real fears and concerns many of us are feeling. The anxiety around job security, workplace accessibility, and the future of DEI initiatives is valid and deeply felt. However, it’s also important to recognize that the laws protecting disabled workers have been hard-won and will not be easily undone. Legal safeguards and advocacy efforts remain powerful tools in preserving workplace equity.

As we navigate these turbulent times, let us move forward with care, grace, and resilience.

Creative, Inclusive Workspaces: What We Can All Learn from the Adaptive Umbrella Workshop

Ryan presents via Zoom at a workshop on creating inclusive workspaces.

As we kick off National Disability Employment Awareness Month, yesterday I had the incredible honor of delivering the closing keynote address at the Adaptive Umbrella Workshop, hosted by the Bloomfield Township Public Library. This workshop focused on fostering creative, inclusive workspaces, and it was a privilege to share my thoughts on how we can create environments where everyone feels like they belong.

I've seen firsthand how conversations around diversity, equity, inclusion, and access are often treated like checkboxes—something to do out of obligation rather than a genuine effort to celebrate difference. During the workshop, we talked about how true inclusion goes beyond merely checking off boxes; it’s about cultivating a culture where disability isn’t a dirty word or something to dance around.

We discussed how equity, not just equality, must be the goal. Equity recognizes that everyone needs different tools to succeed. The idea that reasonable accommodations—whether it’s telework, flexible schedules, or assistive technology—are “special” or “unfair” is still prevalent in many workplaces. But these accommodations are about creating a level playing field.

In the federal government, where I've worked for over a decade, telework has been a game-changer, especially during the pandemic. But it isn’t just about the pandemic—it’s about offering flexibility for employees who navigate complex physical and invisible disabilities like chronic pain. Accommodations like these are about empowerment, not favoritism.

Another important topic we tackled was the disclosure of invisible disabilities. A 2023 study by the SHRM revealed that 47% of employees with invisible disabilities haven’t disclosed them to their employers. This comes from a place of fear—fear that disclosure will harm career prospects or lead to workplace stigma. Employers must create safe spaces where employees feel empowered to disclose if they choose to, without fearing repercussions.

Finally, we talked about resentment. Sadly, workplace accommodations are often misunderstood, leading to friction among coworkers who don’t see or understand the need. But as I shared during my keynote: It’s not the manager’s job to justify accommodations to other employees. Accommodations are about equity.

This workshop reminded me that building inclusive workspaces is an ongoing process. It’s about continuous education, open conversations, and creative solutions. The more we talk about what inclusion really looks like, the better we get at building work environments that uplift everyone, not just a select few.

A huge thank you to Jennifer Taggart and the Bloomfield Township Public Library for hosting such an important event, and to everyone who attended and asked thought-provoking questions. Your engagement fuels the work we’re doing to create a more equitable future.

The Crip Tax: Unveiling the Hidden Costs of Disability

A close-up image of a person in a white shirt holding a fan of hundred-dollar bills in their hand. The focus is on the money, showing several crisp banknotes prominently featuring Benjamin Franklin. The background is blurred, drawing attention to the hand and the cash.

Today, I want to talk about what is colloquially known in our community as the "Crip Tax." This term encompasses the increased cost of living that accompanies being disabled. Whether it’s accessible housing, home modifications, therapies, treatments, medications, or elevated electric bills to maintain medical equipment—these costs are substantial.

Selma Blair shared her struggles with the financial strain of managing her multiple sclerosis with the The Hollywood Reporter: "People perceive you as rich and famous but there were many years I’d have to take off work that deeply impacted [me]. If I don’t [get] my SAG-AFTRA insurance, then I don’t get my blood products." This sentiment resonates deeply with many of us who face similar financial burdens.

Accessible housing is often limited to more expensive areas, and making one's home accessible through modifications can be financially draining. The cost of mobility aids, which are often not covered by insurance, further strains our finances. But the Crip Tax extends beyond monetary costs. The psychological impact of being perceived as exploiting our disability for preferential treatment, when all we seek is basic equity, is profound. We face conscious and unconscious biases that affect our dating lives, career progression, and personal relationships.

In the workplace, requesting necessary accommodations can be a delicate balance. The fear of being perceived as a burden looms large. If we ascend to positions of leadership and conquer these prejudices, we are often met with accusations of tokenism and claims that we are less qualified and less deserving. On the other hand, asking for too many accommodations can lead employers to assume we will underperform. Add to that the often bureaucratic and adversarial nature of making such requests, and many of us simply won’t, effectively making our jobs harder and feeding into the false narrative of our capabilities.

Additionally, the medical field often discounts our experiences. If ailments aren’t found on routine tests, they are frequently deemed imaginary. This constant need to defend our reality is exhausting. 

Socially, the unpredictability of our health means we sometimes have to decline invitations, leading to perceptions of flakiness. Chronic pain and fatigue turn every decision into a game-time choice, based on our body's state that day. The Crip Tax also includes spending time defending yourself to people who don't believe you, expending extra energy from our already limited supply, defending our right to exist.

This tax is a lifetime of financial, psychological, and emotional burdens that seem only to increase.

What did I leave out? Sound off in the comments. Additionally, share your thoughts with NPR for an upcoming feature story.

Selma Blair on Getting “Back on Track” With MS Treatment: People Don’t “Get How Expensive It Is to Be Disabled”